The Gang of Five
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Rumors of his Death

Sapphirre98

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Author's note: This isn't really much of anything, just a small drabble surrounding a scenario I thought up. Mainly prose practice but it's nice enough to be uploaded.

Content warning
for some vague implications of gore. Nothing descriptive.

Tragedy, 800 words, general audiences
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It was a scary thing to fall. Though if you asked him about it, he'd tell you that falling wasn't the scariest part. The scariest part of falling was knowing that at the end of it, you go splat and you die. The anticipation of landing, wondering if it would hurt, knowing that even if you wanted to back out now it was far too late. But strangely, right before impact, he felt okay. Not great, as death is never an attractive bargain even in exchange for the lives of others, but still okay. As he watched the ground come closer, he reminded himself that no matter what happened next, he did it for his friends.

-

As Cera, Ducky, Spike, and Petrie trodded home, sullen and sad, Littlefoot followed shortly behind them. He hoped that maybe they'd feel his presence and that it would cheer them up somehow. Cheer was not among the group of children, though. In fact it was the farthest thing from their minds. For them, they had lost their closest friend. As Littlefoot followed his living friends back to the Great Valley, he wished that he could tell them what his mother told him before she died so many years ago. That he would still be with them, even if they can't see him. Really he never left. And while he would never forget the feeling of falling through the air and watching the ground come closer and closer, he would do it all again if he had to. His friends were worth protecting. At any and all costs.

They'd never know for sure if the fall killed him. They'd never be able to scale down the cliff face to find his body. He knew that, and he wondered what they'd tell his grandparents when they got home. Would they tell them that he was dead? That there was no way he could have survived the fall? That he died a hero, saving them from the attacking fastbiter by baiting it off the cliffside? Or would they offer up their uncertainty of the decisiveness of his fate as an illusion of hope that he survived? That maybe he would come home someday? Rumors of his death, as they would circulate, could not change anything in the end. Littlefoot had died of a long fall down a steep cliff, corpse spattered on the rocky shore of the pond at the bottom of the cliff twelve feet from that of the fastbiter that jumped to its death after him. It did not matter whether anyone knew or believed that. It was the simple truth. The fact of the matter. Perhaps it was sad that he died so young. Perhaps his friends would live out their lives wishing they could go back and do it differently. Perhaps regret and sorrow would be permanent fixtures in their lives from now till forever. There were all the perhapses in the world right now, but as Littlefoot watched his friends march over the wall and into the valley, quietly dragging their tails along behind them, all he could think of was how glad he was to see them go home, alive and safe. It was a risky, costly gamble that he took. But it paid off today. As his grandma once said to him, a real leader must be willing to take the credit when things are good, and the blame when they go bad. Today, the only blame he had to take was the knowledge that his grandparents would never recover from this loss. But it would not be long before he got to see them again face to face. Just like it would not be long before Littlefoot could reunite with his mother for the first time since her death. He hoped that no matter how she felt about what he did today, she would still be proud of him.

The sun began to rise behind them, bringing with it the faint beginnings of blue, red and orange streaks in the sky that, had the kids not been distracted by their mourning, they may have found beautiful. The early morning light bathed the world in a pale, sickly blue that matched the washed out numbness that they felt within. They had known what it was like to feel empty, but empty stomachs and empty hearts were two very different things. And this, undoubtedly, was a cruel way to learn that difference.

Littlefoot stopped under a small overhang to rest his feet, and continued to watch his friends as they walked off into the distance of the valley. The silence they left behind haunted him.

“I'm still with you,” He whispered, knowing that no matter how much he willed it they would never hear him. “I never left.”
If we hold on together... no, seriously. Grab my tail.


ChocoDrake

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 :MoEvil The bad ending queen is pleased by your offering.  :ozzysmug

Wow, I was writing a story where Littlefoot died the same way, what a coincidence!  :GuidoAAAAAHHHHHH

I really enjoyed this short story, you have quite the way with words as you gave me quite the mental movie it was great. Welp, I'm a total sucker for Tragedy and afterlife fics so...  :SmugSpike
"I would not mess with Littlefoot's Mother, man. She'll Suplex you."

Do you want a retelling of LBT from Littlefoot's mother's point of view? Then I have the story for you.

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